Heart and Soul
by LiveLoveDanceSpin
Summary: Fourteen year old Princess Anastasia has everything she ever wanted. But when her kingdom is taken over and Anastasia loses her memory, she loses everything. Five years later, Anastasia has become Anette, but only one man knows who she really is.
1. Chapter 1

Heart and Soul

This is a story based (kinda) off of Anastasia Romanov, but with REALLY different ending.

Anastasia (Anette) Collin—young: Hayley Erin

Anastasia (Anette) Collin—older: Taylor Momsen (minus ton of eyeliner)

Peter Vaugn—young: Jimmy Bennett

Peter Vaugn—older: Richard Fleeshman

Song: Nemo by Nightwish (it really makes sense after you read a chapter or two and you've heard the song. Nemo translates literally into 'No one' in Latin.) Memories by Within Temptation. Jillian by Within Temptation.

*To see what Anastasia's red ball gown looks like, go to .?googleimage first column, far right.*

**Chapter I:**

Anastasia sat down and looked at herself in the mirror. At only fourteen, she could carry herself with a confidence that no other girl her age would manage to accomplish. But she was a princess; it was her job.

She sighed and smoothed down her red silk dress and ran a hand gently over her soft wavy blond hair, which reached her waist.

There was a knock on her door before her father—King Frederick Collin—walked into the room. He smiled when he saw her.

"Anastasia," he said, sitting down. "Can I have a word before everyone starts arriving for the ball?"

She nodded. "Of course, Father." She smiled and turned to face her father. She wasn't at all curious about what he would say; before important balls like this one, he usually told her to be on her best behavior and stay close to her fiancé, Paul James, a very important lord. He also told her to stay away from her best friend, the kitchen helper, Peter, which she usually ignored and talked to him anyways.

"Tonight is of very much significance, Anastasia; you know that," he started. "It is the five-hundred year anniversary of the Collin family ruling the great Navera. It is necessary, of course, that you stay with Paul and keep away from Peter, for just one night," he added when he saw her expression. "Just one night, daughter."

"But Father," she pleaded. "Paul is sixteen, and he treats me like a child. Peter is my best friend, and a better influence than Paul."

"No matter. Paul has a title and he influences society. You need to stay with him and away from Peter. No more discussion." He smiled, the skin by his eyes crinkling. He held up two boxes; one short and about the size of her palm and the other a little taller and bigger than her palm. "I got these for you."

She reached for the boxes and opened the flatter one first, revealing a necklace completely made of diamonds, which ended with a teardrop diamond. She gasped and touched it gently. She managed to tear her eyes away from the beautiful necklace and open the bigger box. In it was an intricate silver tiara, diamonds implanted in the silver, and a matching teardrop diamond on the top of it. She put her hand to her mouth to hide the smile that was building on her face.

"They're so beautiful," she whispered. Her father smiled.

"You're becoming a lovely young woman, Anastasia. It's time you were treated like one as well." With that, he stood up, kissed Anastasia on the forehead, and left the room. She stood up and walked to the larger, stand-up mirror and fasted the necklace around her throat. It stopped just above the start of her dress. Then she reached up and placed the tiara softly onto her hair.

She smiled at herself and took one last look at herself; the silky red fabric that clung in the right places, the full skirt, and then tight sleeves that started just below her shoulders, on her arms. She was beautiful, she knew it.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall," she murmered to herself. "Who is the fairest of them all?"

"Well, I'm no mirror, but my answer would have to be you, Princess," Peter said from behind her. She turned around, smiling. She walked over and hit his arm lightly.

"_That_," she said. "Was a rhetorical question." She laughed and hugged him. He hesitated before hugging her back. Peter was fifteen; a year older than she was, which was probably why she had become friends with him. He was the closest to her age.

"I'm still obligated to voice my opinion, Princess." He looked at her tiara and necklace and smiled. "New accessories?"

Anastasia smiled wider and nodded. "Aren't they beautiful?" She twirled in a circle, her already full skirt flaring out more. "Now be honest; how do I look?"

Peter cocked his head to the side. "Didn't I already say you were beautiful? The fairest of them all?"

Anastasia beamed. "Thank you!"

"Anastasia? Come, Lord Paul will be here soon," her older brother, Raymond, said from behind Peter.

She frowned at Paul's name, looking at Peter, who avoided her gaze. "I have to go," she said sadly. "I suppose I'll see you tomorrow, then." Peter bowed and left, and Anastasia joined Raymond.

He frowned at her. "You and I both know that Paul would not approve of you speaking to Peter."

"You and I both know I don't give a damn of what Paul thinks," Anastasia replied without thinking. Ramon gave her a sharp look.

"Anastasia, we are the future of Navera! Don't go and ruining it for yourself by associating with servants and speaking like one." He put his hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off.

"Peter is my friend, Raymond; I'm not ruining it for myself. I simply like to have _fun_, something you have obviously never discovered for yourself," she snapped at him. She picked up her skirts and stepped down the grand staircase, to where her father and mother stood by the door, along with Lady Beatrice, Raymond's wife, and Lord Paul. I shuttered, thinking that, in three years, I would be his _wife_. She saw her little five-year old sister, Janice. She looked just like Anastasia's favorite aunt, Judith, who was the Duchess of Beck. She would hopefully be at the ball tonight; it would give them a chance to talk and an excuse for her to be away from Paul, because he didn't like Aunt Judith very much. She faked a smile at Paul, who rolled his eyes. She frowned.

She stopped by Paul's side, and he put his hand on her shoulder, pulling her to his side. She made a disgusted sound and pushed him away. Her father shot her a warning glance and she sighed, moving an inch closer to her fiancé. He put his hand on her shoulder again and she was once again by his side. He moved his hand to her waist and she jumped.

She felt eyes burning a hole in her back and she turned to see Peter walking back to the kitchen, most likely having handed something to a waiter, and he turned his eyes away from her, his cheeks red.

Anastasia looked at the ground and pulled away from Paul, and bent down to hug Janice, and set her tiny tiara back into place. Janice laughed, her high voice carrying through the room. Anastasia straightened back up and moved a little closer to Paul as the first guest walked through the door. Anastasia recognized her immediately.

"Aunt Judith!" she cried, hugging the woman tightly. Judith hugged her back.

"Anastasia, darling!" she said. "My, you look so grown up! How old are you now? Eighteen?"

Anastasia laughed and shook her head. Her aunt wasn't serious; she, like Anastasia, enjoyed jokes and fun. "Thirteen, Aunt Judith. Do I have to remind you every time you visit?"

"I'm getting old, sweet," Aunt Judith said. She wasn't old, not really. She was about thirty, which, in Anastasia's book, didn't count yet.

"You're not old, Aunt Judith," she replied. She hugged her again, her smile staying on her face. "How have you been?"

"I've been good, darling. How have you been? And Peter? Oh, I've always like Peter. He's so funny!" she clapped her hands.

Anastasia smiled. "I've been good, too. I think Peter has been, we were talking earlier." She looked around for him, but not seeing him.

Aunt Judith leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "I prefer Peter to that boring block Paul."

Anastasia covered her mouth to hide a laugh and replied quietly, "Me, too. Why don't you tell Father that?"

Aunt Judith shook her head. "As his little sister it is his job not to listen to me. I thought you would know that, with Raymond."

Anastasia shrugged. "I do, but we hardly ever get to see you, and you know that he misses you."

More people started filing into the ballroom. Aunt Judith smiled and patted Anastasia's shoulder and walked away. Anastasia rolled her eyes, and Paul grabbed her arms.

"Dance with me, Anastasia," Paul commanded. She sighed and nodded. Paul took her hand, raising it to be even with their shoulders. She put her hand on his shoulder and he put his on her waist.

Soon they were twirling along with everyone else. Anastasia hated dancing with him, because, unlike others, he didn't talk or laugh or even smile. In fact, he criticized her when she missed a step or stumbled.

Anastasia looked around the room, trying to find a reason to stop dancing with Paul. By now the ballroom was flooded with people. She saw one of her cousins, Bartholomew, who everyone just called Bart, and pulled away from Paul.

"I'm going to say hello to Bart," she said, pushing through the crowd. She smiled and hugged her cousin.

"Anastasia!" Bart cried, hugging her back. "I haven't seen you in such a long time! You've actually gotten taller."

Anastasia rolled her eyes. Bart always teased her because she was short than him, even though he was three years older. "I think you got shorter," she replied.

Bart smirked and tapped her nose. "Where's Paul? Aren't you supposed to be dancing with him?"

Anastasia looked past him. "Oh look, there's someone else I need to talk to!" She said and hurried away.

She spotted Peter back in one of the smaller ballrooms and picked up her skirts so she could speak to him before he left. She caught his shoulder. "Peter," she said, smiling. "Hello."

"Princess," he nodded, barely acknowledging her. He picked up the towel he had been using and slung it over his shoulder.

Anastasia frowned. "What? Why are you treating me like this?" she demanded.

"Shouldn't you be dancing with your fiancé?" Peter asked, still avoiding her gaze as he walked towards the kitchen.

She understood. "Is that what this is about? Paul? Peter, you know that I don't like him at all."

"Does that matter?" he began wiping off a table near the kitchen. "He is still your fiancé, and nothing will change your father's mind. But if I am not out of line asking this, who do you even like?" Peter turned and met her gaze.

"I have two or three years to change his mind, Peter, it is not set in stone," she argued, avoiding his other question for the moment. Then she sighed and said, "Would you truly like to know? Who I care about?"

Peter paused. "Would it be too much to ask of you, Princess?" he finally said.

Anastasia turned his face towards hers. "You. I care about you, above any other man," she replied honestly.

Peter didn't reply. He grabbed the towel and walked into the kitchen. Anastasia felt her throat become thick with tears, but she swallowed them back. She would be allowed to cry later, alone, but not in front of all these people.

She turned on her heel and strode out of the small ballroom and back into the largest one, looking at the grand clock above the dining hall doors. Soon her father would be calling everyone into the hall for dinner.

"There you are!" Paul said. "Your father wants you in the grand dining hall now, before everyone else goes."

Anastasia nodded and hurried off to do as her father wished. She mounted the steps that led to the royal family's dining area and sat in her spot, left of Raymond. Janice sat on her left and then came Beatrice and finally Paul. He came last because they were not yet married. When they were she would be seated by him and Raymond by Beatrice with Janice at the end.

Anastasia sat and fixed her tiara. Then she turned to Janice and smiled sadly, repositioning the little girl's tiara on her silky blond curls.

Soon the rest of the guests filed in, but Paul had not come to his spot on the table. She looked around for him but could not see him anywhere. She sighed.

Her father stood up and tapped on his glass. "Settle down, everyone, settle down," he was preparing for his speech. "As you all know, today is the five-hundredth year anniversary of the Collin reign over Navera. This is something that has never happened before. I want to know that, as your king, it has been many, many fine years of ruling. In this next coming year, I shall step down and my son, Prince Raymond, and his wife, Lady Beatrice, will take up where my beautiful queen and I left off. So! Let us enjoy this fabulous feast that has been prepared for us!"

"Not just yet," someone said from below. She looked down and saw Paul walking to the center of the hall. "I am sure I am not the only one that has thought this. Five hundred years is far too long for one family to rule. And tonight, that will change. Tonight, every Collin in this room," he paused and smiled evilly. "Shall be no more. Kill them all! Every one of them!"

Soldiers in black uniforms flooded out from hiding spots. Some stayed on the ground and held up cross bows, and others marched up with clubs and swords.

"Go!" Father yelled at Anastasia, Raymond, and Janice. "Get away from here!" He was hit square in the chest with an arrow and he fell onto the table, dead.

Mother screamed and a soldier slit her throat. Raymond shoved at her arm. "You heard him! Go!" he cried. Beatrice was slumped on the table, an arrow showing through the back of her head.

Anastasia got up and pulled Janice along with them, running for the stairs. Suddenly there was a weight on them and she stumbled and hit the floor. She looked back in horror as her brother's lifeless eyes stared at her. She scrambled up and a soldier with a sword tried to cut her, and managed to cut a long deep gash running up her right forearm.

She gasped and pulled Janice along. Suddenly part of the wall swung open and hit the soldier with the sword in the face.

"In here! Hurry!" Peter whispered. Anastasia took his outstretched hand and entered the dark tunnel.

"Wait! Janice!" she said, turning back just in time to see Janice fall to the ground, blood pooling around her little body. She covered her mouth in horror. Peter pulled her through the thin, dark hallway.

"There are two horses outside. I've already gotten Judith to one of them. You take the other and get out of here," he said, opening the back of the hallway.

"Peter," she gasped. "You must come with me! You cannot stay here or you will surely be killed!"

"Anastasia," he said quietly, cupping her face in his hands. He had never called her by her first name only before. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers for a quick second before pulling back.

He slipped off his pale blue string bracelet and slid it onto her right wrist. "I promise I'll find you again," he whispered. He pushed her towards the waiting horse and she stumbled, and realized her tiara had fallen off.

She didn't care. Peter would find her again and when he did he would kiss her again. Everything would be okay.

Anastasia scrambled onto the horse and her aunt looked at her, relieved. "Thank God you're okay!"

"Someone's escaping!" someone yelled from the tower. "Get horses! Go after them! Kill them!"

Anastasia and Aunt Judith whipped the horses and they ran out of the palace gates. The sound of more horses galloping behind them filled her ears.

When they turned onto the third street, a cat streaked across, in front of Anastasia's horse. It neighed and reeled back onto its back feet.

Anastasia managed one short scream before her head cracked onto the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II:**

She blinked her eyes and looked up at the woman standing over her. Her head was pounding, and she grimaced.

"Oh, good, dear, you're awake!" the woman said, smiling at her.

"Where am I? Who are you?" She tried to remember something, anything, but it made her head pound. "Who am I?"

There was a bandage wrapped around her entire right forearm and a pale blue string bracelet that had a strip of a rust-colored red going through it.

The woman stared at her, shocked. "I am Victoria," she said. "You are in my home, but your last question I cannot answer. I found you outside, alone, and you had a terrible gash on your right arm. What is your name?"

Tears stung her eyes. "I don't remember. I _can't_ remember anything." The closest she could come to a name in her mind was An. "It starts with An, that's all I can remember."

Victoria smiled. "Is your name Anna? Or just Anne? What about Anette?"

She closed her eyes and tried to remember. "Anette. That sounds right." At least now she had a name. "What are you going to do with me?"

Victoria smoothed away Anette's hair from her face. "Well, that's up to you, darling. You can stay here as long as you like. You can live here if you have no where else to go, too."

Anette felt a tear spill down her cheek. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

Victoria leaned down and hugged her tightly. "Then you can stay here, Anette." She gave her a handkerchief to wipe away the tears.

She raised her right arm but gasped when pain shot up her arm. She took it with her left hand instead. Then she looked at the pale bracelet. "Do you know where it came from? The bracelet?"

Victoria shook her head. "It was right there when I found you, along with all the blood from your cut."

Anette nodded. There were only two things that she had left from her past; the blue bracelet and the long gash in her arm.

Five Years Later:

Anette dressed in her usual gown; off-white underskirt and a dark brown bodice and over skirt. She reached back and tied her light, almost white-blond hair with a brown ribbon. Over the years, in exposure to the sun, her hair had gotten lighter, changing from a near golden blond to white blond.

She looked at her eyes, her skin, and her lips. Her face had been defined at fourteen, but now, at nineteen, her cheekbones were high and her face sharp. She was more beautiful than ever before now.

On her right arm, she always wore a longer white sleeve that reached up and had a hole for her thumb underneath her other bell-like sleeve. This was to hide the puckered pink scar that ran from her elbow to her wrist, the mark of an incident she couldn't remember. The pale blue bracelet she wore over the bottom sleeve.

The bracelet was her most prized possession. It had become worn and paler over the years, the only color from the rust-red line, which she had soon discovered to be blood, most likely from the cut on her arm.

Anette nodded at her reflection before leaving the room and heading for the small kitchen. She saw Victoria, though, soon after having been found, she had started calling her Mama.

When Mama saw her, she gasped and hugged her tightly. "You get more beautiful every time I see you, Anette."

She hugged Mama back. "Thank you, Mama," she said. "I must get to work now. If I am late Mistress Hattie will surely punish me."

Anette worked at a dressmaking shop, along with one of her best friends, Loraine. Mistress Hattie was the strict and cruel owner of the shop who had hopelessly fallen for the king of Navera, Paul, even though she was nearly five years older than the twenty-one year old king. He had taken the throne from the current ruling family, the Collins, and every one of them had been killed, including his fiancé, Princess Anastasia.

"All right," Mama agreed, handing Anette her brown cloak. She took it and tied it in front of her neck and put the hood up.

"Goodbye, Mama. I love you," she kissed her mother's cheek.

"I love you too, darling," she said, kissing Anette's cheek in return. Anette smiled and left the small house, heading for the market. She had to go through there to get to the shop.

As she pushed her way through the crowd, people were whispering. Anette caught small bits of what they were saying.

"The princess," one whispered.

"You don't believe that," another said.

"She was killed along with the rest of them!"

"But where's her skull? Or her body?"

"How would she have gotten away?"

"She was stabbed that night! Her blood still stains the ground!"

Anette rolled her eyes and walked into the shop, taking off her cloak and laying it beside her as she sat down on the bench where she and Loraine worked.

"Did you hear the rumors?" Loraine asked immediately. Her cheeks were flushed and red. "They're saying that Princess Anastasia didn't die, that she's still alive!"

Anette shook her head and started sewing. "That's impossible, Loraine. We both know that her blood is still on the floor where the rest where killed."

"I know that," she said impatiently. "But King Paul has hung the skulls of the Collins on the outside wall of the castle. King Frederick's is there, Queen Veronica's, and Prince Raymond's, and Princess Janice's. But Princess Anastasia's is missing. It's not there along with the rest of them!"

"Explain the blood, then, Loraine," Anette snapped, not looking away from her sewing. King Paul had once been engaged to Anastasia. Perhaps her skull gave him too many memories and he had simply decided to bury it.

"They say that she was cut on her right arm," Loraine said simply. "While she was escaping."

Anette's head snapped up. _Cut on her right arm._ What if the king ordered for every maiden in the town to show her right arm? Would she be executed as the princess, a false judgment?

She touched her forearm gently. Loraine looked at it. "You've never told me why you wear that," she said softly. "Why?"

"After work," Anette said simply, recovering from her brief shock. "I'll explain it to you after work. But either way, you and I both know that the princess is dead. She was killed five years ago."

Loraine bounced up and down. "But would it not be interesting if she showed up and demanded her throne back? It is the law that King Paul would have to restore her to her rightful position."

"That would be a death wish. Before she could say a word King Paul would have her killed."

"That's true…But what if she started a riot, posing as a simple townsperson and then got him executed before saying who she really is?"

"You have a very active imagination. One day it is going to get the best of you, Loraine. Lower your expectations on the princess returning. She isn't going to."

"You never know," Loraine muttered.

After they finished work, Loraine went home with Anette. She closed the door and the curtains on the window before turning back to Loraine.

"You would really like to know why I wear this extra sleeve?" Anette asked, holding up her right arm.

"Yes, I would really like to know," Loraine said excitedly. Anette pushed back her bell sleeve and pushed the second one down a little, revealing a small section of the scar.  
>Loraine gasped. Anette nodded and pulled it completely off, revealing the jagged scar running from elbow to wrist.<p>

"I wear it to hide this," she said, and traced the line. Loraine's eyes were huge as she took in the angry looking scar.

"Where'd you get that, Anette?" she gasped.

Anette tugged the sleeve back up onto her arm. "I don't know, honestly. Only my mother knows this but…five years ago, I had some kind of accident and lost my memory. I don't know where I got this bracelet or the scar."

Loraine eyed her suspiciously. "Have you been lying to me this whole time? Oh my God, Anette, are you the long lost princess?"

She shook her head. "I'm not, Loraine. If I was, would I be stupid enough to even stay in this city?"

Loraine frowned. "I suppose not."

"You can't tell anyone about the scar, Loraine. Promise me that, alright? If anyone hears about it they'll think I'm Anastasia and King Paul will have me executed."

Loraine nodded. "I won't, I promise, Anette. I don't want to see you hurt or dead or anything like that. It would just be so interesting if you turned out to be her." She fluffed Anette's white-blond hair. "But your hair is the wrong color. I always heard the princess's was like a golden-wheat color."

Anette didn't mention that over the years her hair had become lighter.

She didn't say that her hair used to be that exact color.

Loraine spent the rest of the night braiding Anette's waist length hair, laughing and talking about the men who were always looking at her.

"But I could never compete with you, Anette," she said suddenly. "You're so beautiful. You have so many suitors already."

Anette rolled her eyes. "I care about none of them if they only like me for my face. But Loraine, you're beautiful, too."

It was true; Loraine had long chestnut hair down to her waist and big blue eyes—not quite as icy blue as Anette's, but still beautiful—, a small button nose, and incredibly fair skin. She was also very small and thin.

"Who then do you care about, Anette? You must have found a suitor you prefer above anyone else. I know I have." She batted her eyelashes.

Anette wanted to shake her hair, but Loraine was still braiding it. "Not one. No one takes the chance to know me. But who have you found?"

Loraine sighed dreamily. "Peter Vaugn. I know he's not rich, but he is so handsome. But he has never become a suitor to anyone. Rumor has it that he was Princess Anastasia's suitor, because he worked in the palace kitchen. Some people even say that the princess liked him more than King Paul."

Anette was confused. "Peter Vaugn? I've never heard of him before."

Loraine gasped. "I'll have to point him out to you next time we're in the market. He's so handsome; you must have seen him before."

Anette nodded. "Alright. We don't have work tomorrow, so in the evening? We can go to the market and you can show me your one true love." She laughed and Loraine smacked her and laughed.

"Don't steal him from me," Loraine warned jokingly. "I am already competing with half of the town."

"Well, if the princess is back…" Anette trailed of and smirked at her friend's horrified face. "If he was her suitor, and she always liked him…watch out."

Loraine gasped. "You're right!" She laughed nervously. "You're right, the princess is dead."

"What if he's still getting over her and that's why he's never become anyone else's suitor? Are you competing with a corpse?"

Loraine smacked her with a pillow. "Not. Funny. Anette," she said slowly and clearly. "So not funny."

"You're right. It _is_ funny." Anette collapsed on her small bed laughing. Her long, mysterious scar was forgotten at the moment.

Loraine attacked her with a pillow again, laughing hysterically. They collapsed on the floor, still laughing. Loraine left before dark and Anette began dressing for bed, staring at her scar for a long time when she was in her nightgown. All her laughter had left and she was left with wondering and questions.

She traced the long, jagged scar again. "Where did you come from?" she whispered to herself. "I must have gotten you somewhere."

She sighed and pulled the sleeve back over the cut and blew out the candle and rolled over to go to sleep.

In her dream, Anette was moving quickly, bouncing while she was moving. Her right arm was stinging and blood was dripping onto the ground. She was on a horse, she could tell.

The fabric on her arms and bodice was tight, barely breathable. Suddenly the horse reared back and Anette screamed.

She sat up in her bed, sweat covering her face. She reached over and lit a candle, her hand shaking.

It wasn't the first time she'd had the dream; it was actually her most common dream. After, her head always hurt and her scar always stung.

Mama ran into the room and saw Anette, sighing. "Did you have the dream again, darling?" she asked, coming over and hugging Anette.

She nodded, tears filling up her eyes. "Every time I have the dream, I always feel like I really fell off the horse again."

Mama held her tightly. "It's okay, baby," she said. "Do you have any idea what it means? Why is it always falling off the horse?"

"Sometimes it changes," Anette said. "Sometimes it's all this…commotion, and then I see a man's face, and he's dead, just staring at me. Then I hear this scream and my arm starts stinging again. And then I hear this other man, saying _'In here, hurry_' and then I wake up."

"But what does it mean, Anette?" she asked again, taking out a cloth and wiping the sweat off her face.

"I don't know!" Anette cried. "I lost the first fourteen years of my memory that leave me with only a scar a bracelet!"

"I know, Anette," Mama said quietly. "I cannot even imagine how it must feel, not knowing who you really are, but no matter what, you will always be my daughter, even if you remember who you are."

Anette, tears sliding down her cheek, hugged Mama tightly. "You'll always be my mother," she said. "No matter what."

Anette paused before speaking again, "Mama, I'm scared."

"Scared of what, baby? It's just a dream," she smoothed away her hair from her clammy face.

"I know. But there is some talk about the princess. They say she escaped, only with a long cut on her right arm." She swallowed. "Mama, what if someone sees it and thinks I'm her? What if King Paul has me executed?"

"Baby, it won't come to that, I promise. But either way, I've seen the princess before. You don't look a thing like her, Anette."

"But…" she protested, but she knew her mother was right; she didn't look a bit like Anastasia.

Not anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III:**

Anette wasn't working, so she decided to avoid everyone and take a walk by the old castle, which had been abandoned after King Paul took the throne from the Collins. He had a larger, grander palace built and the other was closed.

Today, she noticed that on of the gates was unlocked. She stepped closer to it and pushed a little. It creaked open.

"Oh," Anette squeaked quietly. She looked around before stepping into the palace grounds. Because she was avoiding everyone until later, she hadn't put the extra sleeve on, and as she brushed her hair out of her face, her sleeve fell to expose the long scar for a moment.

She stepped up the steps, which were cracked and caked with dirt. She was waiting for one to fall in, but it never came.

She pushed the door, which was at least ten times her height, open and stepped into the grand ball room.

The floors and walls were dusty, and the clock was smashed at the foot of the dining room doors. Pictures were either crooked or on the ground, and all had spider webs on them.

Anette walked over to the nearest one and propped it up against the wall. She jumped back; surprised that it was the portrait of Princess Anastasia. Her face was blank and emotionless, but her ice-blue eyes held something, as if being painted was the most amusing thing in the world to her. Her golden-wheat hair was piled on top of her hair in mounds of curls. A small silver tiara was laid in her hair.

She wore a tight-fitting violet gown that, even though the painting was covered in dust, looked soft. Her hands were positioned on her skirt and it appeared that she was sitting sideways with her upper body turned towards the artist.

Anette left the beautiful painting leaning against the wall and ventured to the grand stairs. She walked quickly, not wanting the stairs to collapse if she spent too much time on them. She entered every room she came across, and in each it was apparent that no one had lived there in years.

The last room she came across was different; there were footmarks in the dust, and small objects that were clear of dust in most places. Anette shook her head and walked over to the small desk, where, strangely, a small silver tiara, not the one from the portrait, sat, not a single speck of dust on it.

She picked it up and watched the dim light sparkle across the diamonds. This must be the missing crown; the one King Paul had never been able to find.

The one Anastasia had been wearing when she was killed.

The necklace had never been found, either. Anette looked around, but there was no necklace to accompany the tiara.

She shrugged and set down the tiara on the desk. She left the room and walked back down the stairs.

Anette wandered into the grand dining room. She looked up at the high table where the royal family sat. She walked up the stairs that led to it.

On one chair and small part of table there was blood; where King Frederick had died. The next chair had a drop, but more was splattered across the floor and on the wall behind it; Queen Veronica. The next seat had nothing, but the one after that had a blood stain on it; Prince Raymond's wife, Beatrice. The next three places were empty, but behind one there was a small circle of blood, most likely where Prince Raymond had died, trying to get his sisters out. Next to it was another circle of blood; Princess Janice. She'd been only five when this had happened.

There, next to the wall, was a thin line of blood. That was where Anastasia's struggle had ended. Where she had finally been stabbed and killed.

Anette noticed that there was a small section of the wall sticking out. She grabbed it and pulled it out farther, revealing a thin hallway.

Rats squealed and ran out of the corridor. Anette screamed and backed into the table. The noises echoed through the hall.

She ran down the closest set of stairs, opposite to the ones she had come up. She stumbled down to the bottom and leaned against the wall, gasping.

Suddenly, another voice shattered the once quiet room. "Hey! Who's in here?" It was a man's voice so angry and stern that Anette flattened herself against the wall.

A young man, maybe her age, walked into the room. He had dark hair that hung into his eyes, and he was tall, even from back here she could tell.  
>He spotted her. "You! What are you doing in here?"<p>

Anette unfroze and darted back up the stairs, figuring the thin hallway must lead to an exit.

But the man was quicker. He got there at the same time she did and grabbed her shoulders. Anette struggled.

"Let me go!" she said, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. She looked up at him and was shocked by how handsome he was. But he wasn't staring at her face, not really.

He was staring at her eyes. His own were wide and disbelieving. His grasp loosened on her shoulders and she pushed him away and ran through the tunnel.

She pulled spider webs off of herself as she ran; finally reaching the end and pushing the door open, stumbling back into the light.

She finished pulling off the spider webs, but had stopped for too long, because the man grabbed her again and turned her around.

Suddenly, he kissed her. Anette was stunned and pushed him away. "Why did you do that?" she snapped. "I don't even know who you are!"

The man looked surprised. "You…but…What's your name?" he asked. He didn't look hurt, just confused.

She pushed him away again. "Anette," was all she said.

"I'm Peter," he said. "You don't remember me?" He was still staring at her eyes.

"Peter?" she asked, realizing something. "Peter Vaugn?" His eyes light up. "My friend was talking about you."

His eyes fell. "Yes. But do _you_, personally, remember me?" Peter's gaze never left her eyes.

Anette shook her head. "Sorry, I don't know a Peter," she said, and started walking away quickly, reaching up to push her hair out of her face again.

His footsteps sounded behind her again. Anette looked back once and saw him running towards her. She quickened her pace and was relieved when she reached the market, where Loraine was waiting.

"Anette!" she called, waving. Anette walked over to her and stood behind her shoulder. Loraine pointed at where Peter was walking into the market after her. "There he is! He's handsome, isn't he? And he's looking for someone!"

"Yes, Loraine. Very handsome," Anette said. "Come get me when he leaves," she whispered. "I'll be at my house."  
>She ran off with no explanation.<p>

But Peter must have seen her because he cornered her outside her house. His face was angry again.

He took her right wrist and held it up, the sleeve dropping down to her elbow. "You say you don't know me, then how did you get that bracelet?" he asked, not noticing the scar yet.

She tried to pull out of his grasp. "I don't know," she hissed. "I woke up and it was there."

"When did you find it?" he demanded, staring into her eyes with an angry expression on his face, as if she was lying to him.

"When I was fourteen," she snapped. "I lost my memory when I was fourteen! That little bracelet you're obsessed with is the only thing I have left of my past!"

"I gave that bracelet to a friend of mine five years ago," he said. "And she was fourteen. Now I know her to be dead." He looked down at her arm and his eyes widened as he saw the scar. "You're her."

Anette pulled her arm out of his hand. "I'm who? And if she's dead I can't exactly be her, can I?"

He took her arm again and touched her scar. "She was cut right here. I gave the bracelet to her while she was bleeding." He turned the bracelet to where the blood was stained onto it.

"Would you exactly tell me _who_ you think I am?" Anette asked, getting annoyed at Peter for practically talking to himself.

"Anastasia," he whispered, bringing his eyes up to her face. Anette's eyes widened. "You have her bracelet, her scar, and her eyes…" he trailed off and lifted her face up a little. "She's just locked inside somewhere where your memories are."

"What are you doing?" Anette whispered. Her voice had become weak and useless. Peter paused, obviously giving her time to pull away if she wanted to.

Then he leaned closer and pressed his lips to hers gently. Anette wasn't stunned this time, and didn't pull away. He pulled back after a second though. "What do you think of when I do that?" he asked softly.

"I…" she sputtered. "I can't…that makes it hard for me to…think." Peter's expression didn't change. She looked up at him. "I'm not…Anastasia. I can't be."

"Then how do you explain all of this?" Peter asked. "I helped Anastasia and her aunt, Judith, escape that night. But when I found Judith again four years ago, she said that Anastasia had disappeared while they were riding, not long after they'd left. She said that she'd heard her scream and she thought that the soldiers had gotten her. But she had never lost hope that she was still alive." He straightened up. "And here you are, perfectly fine aside from the amnesia."

The image of her dream, of the horse rearing back and her screaming. "I fell off of a horse," she said suddenly. "When I lost my memory, it was because I fell off of a horse. It's my most frequent dream and I never knew it was real."

Peter touched her arm again. "Do you remember how you got this?" He traced a little bit of the scar.

Anette shook her head. "No. I don't." Suddenly, she recognized Peter's voice. "You were in my dream! You were telling me to…"

The door opened and Mama stepped out. "Anette? Darling, come inside! It's going to be getting dark soon and dinner is about ready."

Anette blushed and nodded. "Goodbye, Peter," she said before following her mother back inside the little house.

"Who was that boy?" Mama asked as soon as the door was closed.

"Um, his name is Peter," Anette said, sitting down at the little table. "I met him in the market today."

"You seemed to trust him quite a lot, with showing him your scar," Mama said, sitting down next to her.

Anette shrugged then blurted, "Mama, what was I wearing when you found me? You never told me."

Her mother shrugged. "Nothing different from what you usually wear," she said, shrugging again.

"Oh," Anette said. "Well, I was just wondering." She picks at her bread for a minute. "I'm really not hungry," she said, and excused herself. Anette walked into her bedroom and sat on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

She took off the pale bracelet and held it in her hand. She looked at it, trying to remember anything that involved it. But, as always when she tried to dig deep into her memory, her head started to hurt and she sighed. Anette closed her eyes for a second and an image flashed through her mind.

She could recognize Peter, though his face was less defined, younger looking. He looked sad. _"I promise I'll find you again,"_ he was saying. She could almost feel his lips on hers again. _"Anastasia,"_ he said.

Her eyes flew open. Anastasia. She remembered Peter calling her Anastasia.

She turned and threw up over the side of her bed. She coughed and let the tears leak down her cheeks.

Her mother came into the room. "Oh! Baby, are you alright?" She rushed to her side with a towel and some water to clean Anette's mouth.

She wiped away her mouth and spit into it before drinking the entire glass of water and spitting it back into the glass.

Then Anette sat back and sobbed into her hands. Her mother put her arm around her. "Baby, crying won't make it any better. Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

"I'm not!" Anette sobbed. "I just…I can't…It's too hard for me to explain right now, Mama."

"Try, Anette, try," Mama urged, hugging Anette tightly.

Anette shook her head. "I want to get some sleep, Mama. I can't think straight right now. Please," she looked at her mother's pained expression. "Mama, please."

Her mother sighed. "Alright. Feel better in the morning, dear," she said.

Anette, without even changing into her nightgown, feel asleep instantly on her little bed, exhausted.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV: **

Anette found Loraine in the market the next day, having slept most of the day already. She was terrified after the memory from last night.

"Have you seen Peter?" Anette asked, looking around for him. She didn't see him anywhere.

"Why?" Loraine asked, her voice cracking. "So you can go _kiss_ him again and then pretend you don't know who he is?"

Anette stops looking for Peter and looks at her instead. "Loraine, I didn't know who he was before yesterday! Please, I really need to speak to him. It's important."

Loraine rolled her eyes. "Do you need to talk about how great it was last night? How nice it was to meet him?"

"No, Loraine! Would you please stop this?" Anette said, beginning to look around for Peter again. "I just need to tell him one little thing."

"What? What do you need to tell him that is so important?" She scoffed. "You made me believe he only has eyes for the princess."

"Would you please answer my question?" Anette asked.

"I haven't seen him," Loraine finally said. "He's your suitor; he should be around you at all times."

"Why are you being like this?" Anette frowned at her friend.

"You stole him away," Loraine snapped. "You lied to me and said you wouldn't and look what you've done!"

"What have I done, Loraine?" Anette hissed. "If you took one step into my life you would cry within the first five minutes!"

"Why? Because the poor little girl lost her memory? Because she has nothing better to do than ruin other people's lives?"

Anette widened her eyes and stared at her. "I can't believe you just said that to me," she whispered and ran off.

She bumped into someone and looked up. "Oh, Peter!" she cried. "I've been looking everywhere for you!" She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards her house. "I need to talk to you in private."

"About what?" Peter asked. Anette pulled him into her house and marched into her room before shutting the door.

"Peter," she said. "Last night…I…remembered something. Something that I never could remember before."

"What did you remember?" Peter asked eagerly, grabbing her shoulders and holding onto them tightly, as if they were his lifeline.

"You were…talking to me. You promised that you would find me again." She hesitated before speaking again. "You called me Anastasia."

Peter smiled and his eyes sparkled. "That's what I said when I gave you that bracelet. That was also the first time I had ever called you Anastasia instead of Princess or Princess Anastasia."

"You said you also saved Judith," Anette said. "I want to see her. I don't remember her at all."

Peter nodded. "You should. She needs to know you didn't die. She'll be so glad to see you. But she's been staying in other country, Julius, because it's too dangerous to stay here in Navera, even if she wasn't part of the immediate royal family."

"We're right by the border," Anette said. "It won't take us longer than a few days, will it? I can't be gone longer than two weeks."

"No, it will take about two days to get there and the same to get back. But I…" he paused. "I wouldn't recommend coming back. With the rumors, your disappearance will seem suspicious and if you come back you'll be interrogated and your scar will be found."

"Mama," Anette whispered. But what could she do, give up a woman who wasn't her real family or give up the woman who was? "I know," she finally said. "But Judith is my family, my blood." She paused. "You'll stay, won't you?"

Peter smiled. "It would be rude to refuse a princess twice." He bowed. "Yes, I'll stay if you'd like me to."

"Twice?" Anette asked.

Peter nodded. "You probably don't remember, as I'm guessing that your memory is coming back in small bits, but before I helped you escape, you told me I had to come with you, but I said no."

Anette frowned. "No, I…I don't remember that." She hesitated. "When can we leave? I want to go as soon as possible."

"Now, if you'd like," Peter said.

"I need to…leave Mama a note," Anette said, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen, and writing a quick note on it. She rushed into the room and set it on her dresser, accidentally bumping into it.

A small compartment swung open and something sparkled inside it. Anette reached down and came back up holding a diamond necklace.

The one that matched the tiara.

Anette clenched the necklace in her hand and ground her teeth together angrily. Her mother had lied to her. All these years, she'd known at least that she had come from a rich family, and she'd kept it hidden away.

Anette stormed out of the room. Peter caught her elbow and turned her around. "What's wrong, Anette?"

She held up the necklace, tears in her eyes. "My mother told me that when she found me I was dressed no different than I am now. But this," she shook the necklace. "Matches the tiara I saw in the abandoned castle!"

Peter took the necklace out of her hand. "You were wearing this that night. Your father had just given it to you, along with the tiara. I found that before any of Paul's men did and kept it." He looked at her face. "She was probably just nervous, or she was protecting you."

"She was lying to me," Anette snapped. "That's the only thing she was doing. Lying to me for years!"

Peter wrapped his arms around her. Anette didn't think anything of it, and she laid her head on his shoulder. "You'll come to forgive her, Anette."

"How can you know that?" Anette asked, a single tear sliding down her cheek. Peter wiped it away.

"Because I know _you_. You aren't one to hold a grudge, Anette. Even if you don't remember that anymore." He dropped the necklace in her dress pocket.

Anette pulled away from him slightly. "Why are you calling me Anette?" she asked, confused.

He raised his eyebrows. "Isn't that what you'd like to be called?"

"Well…I just thought that since, well, you knew me when I was Anastasia, that you would call me that instead." Her cheeks heated up and she ducked her head to hide her embarrassment.

He moved away her hair. "But the only time you can remember is when you are Anette. I won't make you uncomfortable and change it again until you're ready."

Anette reached up and touched his face. "You've barely changed at all," she whispered. "You're still almost the same."

He caught her hand and kissed it. "Unlike you. Even your hair is lighter than it used to be, which is good, because if Paul thinks you're still alive, he would be looking for you're old color, not this one. Actually, the only thing that really stayed the same is your eyes—still ice blue."

Anette nodded. "But I don't know how no one recognized me when I was fourteen. I didn't look any different."

"Because no one was looking for you," Peter said simply. "Everyone thought you were dead, so no one noticed how much you resembled Anastasia. And not many of the villagers had ever seen the princess in person."

"No soldiers, though?" she asked. "And how did Paul ever believe I was dead, without finding my body?"

"I'm not sure, but I heard that he figured you'd bled out somewhere and died. He never cared enough to look for your dead body. He was never suspicious enough to look for you alive." Peter tucked her hair behind her ear.

"How can someone be so awful to want to eliminate an entire family? And he very nearly succeeded!" Anette laid her head on his chest again.

"He was greedy and self-centered, Anette. Anyone who wasn't would never have done anything like that." He held her to him.

"Peter," Anette whispered. "What if Aunt Judith doesn't believe I am Anastasia? You yourself said it; I look nothing like myself aside from my eyes. What if she tosses me away as an imposter?"

"She'll know that I would know if it was you or an imposter," Peter said simply. "But if she still doesn't, we'll show her the bracelet, the scar, and the necklace. With evidence like that, you simply can't not believe you are Anastasia."

Anette wiped away her tear and nodded. Peter laughed. When she looked at him, a questioning look on her face, he said, "Anastasia would never let anyone see her cry, if she ever did. She believed it showed weakness and insecurity."

Anette frowned. "That's not what I believe anymore," she said firmly. "Crying doesn't show weakness; it shows that you care or it shows you're sad."

Peter smiled and nodded. "I know. But Anastasia believed she had to appear strong and brave, because she was a princess."

She smiled shyly. "Peter, answer me a question honestly."  
>"Anything," he replied instantly.<p>

"Was I a bitch? A literally royal-pain-in-the-ass?" she asked. Peter laughed. Anette frowned and raised an eyebrow.

"No," he finally said. "You were the opposite of what anyone would expect of a royal teenager, your entire family was kind and considerate. You were friends with me when I was your servant and you didn't care what anyone else thought. Paul, Paul is the image people get when they think 'king.' He's selfish and self-centered. He does everything for his own personal gain. That is why no one cares for him much as a ruler, though no one will ever admit it."

Anette nodded. "I was afraid you would say yes," she admitted. Then she looked at the darkening sky. "We should go or I'll be delayed another night by Mama."

As she spoke the last word, her mother opened the door and stepped inside. She looked up and was about to say something when she spotted Peter.

"Oh. Hello. Who are you?" she asked, setting down her basket and looking at Peter and then back at Anette. "Anette, who's your friend?"

Peter held out his hand. "Ma'am," he said politely. "My name is Peter. I'm a friend of Anette's." Mama took his hand and he bowed over it, kissing it.

Mama flushed. "I am Victoria, Anette's mother," she said. Anette excused herself, running to grab the note on her mother's dresser and shut the compartment where the necklace had been. She stuffed the note in her pocket.

"Are you staying for dinner?" Mama asked Peter as Anette reentered the room. Peter shook his head.  
>"I must be getting home," he said before turning and bowing to Anette. "Until we meet again pr—Anette." He quickly hid his mistake and left the house.<br>"He is very polite," Mama mused. "I like him. Does he fancy you? Anette! Have you finally found a worthy suitor?"

Anette noticed how she had said 'finally' and rolled her eyes. Many girls were married at fifteen or sixteen, rarely ever late than eighteen. But Anette was nineteen, and she had turned down numerous proposals.

"He is a friend, Mama," Anette said. "That is all, simply a friend and no more than that. But yes, he is very kind."

"Wait. Was he the man who was once the princess's friend? The one who went missing?" Mama shook her head. "Poor girl. She must be scared to death, wherever she is."

"You don't believe she was killed?" Anette asked, clenching her hand into a fist to keep from touching the jewels in her pocket.

"No, heavens, no!" Mama cried. "Her body was never discovered! Of course, her blood stains the carpet, but it could be a cut. But imagine how horrible it must be, living under the rule of the man who had your family murdered. I feel the most pain for the little Princess Janice. She was only five when she died, you know. Anastasia would have been fourteen."

"What's for dinner?" Anette asked suddenly. She wanted to get her talk off of the princess.

Off of her.

"Scallops! Scallops and bread! Bought them both fresh at the market!" Mama cried, obviously pleased with her surprise.

But during dinner, Anette barely touched the delicacy. Her stomach was rumbling as she thought about her and Peter's coming journey to Julius to find Judith.

Her only remaining blood family.

That night, as she was trying to sleep, something tapped on her window. Anette got up to investigate and saw Peter's face peering through the glass.

She smiled and opened the window. "What are you doing here?" she whispered. "It's so late!"

"I was under the impression you wanted to get to Julius as soon as possible," he replied quietly. "And I brought a horse."

Anette grinned. "I'll be out as soon as possible," she said. She shut the window and changed out of her nightgown, slipping the necklace back into her pocket. She placed the note on the table and opened the door quietly before running to Peter.

He hugged her tightly before pulling her towards the awaiting horse. He climbed on first and pulled her on next.

"Where do you think you're going?" Loraine asked from behind them. Anette turned around and stared at her. "What, are you going to elope and leave your _former_ best friend?" She enunciated the word 'former' and smirked.

Anette frowned. "Former? Loraine, don't be like this. You know I would never do that. Ever."

Loraine rolled her eyes. "I don't know you at all anymore. For example, how you _forgot_ to tell me about that memory you had? Forgot to mention who you really are? Where you're from, _Anastasia_?"

Anette gasped. "Loraine, you…you heard? You were eavesdropping on Peter and I? How could you?"

"How could you?" she nearly yelled. "I asked you if you were the lost princess, and you lied and said you weren't!"

"Because I didn't know!" Anette screamed. "I had that memory last night! That's when pieces started coming back! And I didn't tell you to keep you safe! I am wanted around here, I could be killed!"

"So where are you going, Princess?" Loraine snarled.

"I'm going to find the only real family I have left!" Anette snapped. "And I won't be back, that's for sure."

"Anette, we need to leave," Peter said quietly.

"Fine, go," Loraine said. "It's not as if you have any regard for me at all. You know, I could tell King Paul who you really are."

"But you won't, Loraine. If you have anything redeeming about you, you won't tell Paul who I am, because I do not threaten him." Anette turned and latched her arms around Peter's waist tightly, and the horse galloped away from Loraine and Anette's home.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V:**

As soon as they had started riding away, alarms had sounded and the sound of at least five more horses enveloped them.

"Halt!" a soldier cried as an arrow narrowly missed Anette's shoulder. "Surround her! The princess is escaping!"

Anette clung to Peter's waist and squeezed her eyes shut. Soon a different voice filled her ears. "Princess, surrender now and your death shall be quick and painless!" Another arrow swept past her, grazing the hair that was whipping violently around her shoulders.

"Are you sure it's her?" a soldier asked uncertainly. "The hair doesn't look right. It's too light."

Anette's eyes brightened as she thought of something. "Stop shooting! I am not the lost princess!" she cried, and the horses stopped, and she kicked Peter, telling him to stop. "She found me and said she would pay me if I pretend to be her while she escaped from the city. She, in fact, went the other way on foot." Anette pointed back in the way of the old castle.

The soldiers didn't hesitate; the way her white-blond hair shone in the moonlight was enough evidence for them. They immediately galloped the other way. Anette sighed in relief and motioned for Peter to stay still until the horses were out of earshot.

Then they rode out of the city, until Anette told him to tie up the horse at a random tree and rest in a small cave a little out of the way, but close enough to keep an eye on the horse.

Anette pulled off her extra sleeve and used it as a pillow. Peter crawled over as she was examining the long scar in the moonlight. He looked at her hard for a moment before reaching out and touching the scar gently.

"Do you ever wish it wasn't there?" he asked quietly.

Anette shook her head. "I don't have an answer to that question yet, Peter," she whispered.

He was silent. Then he crawled over to where her makeshift pillow was. "Come here," he said. Anette went over to him, confused, and he laid his arm out across her sleeve. "Put down your head."

She did as he told her to, turning on her side and resting her head on his arm. She closed her eyes and instantly fell asleep.

Her dream took place at the old castle again. She was wearing the tight silk dress, but her arm wasn't stinging.

Peter's younger face was there again. He was speaking to her, a serious expression across his beautiful face.

"_Who do you even like?"_ he was asking her.

Her lips moved, although she didn't know what to say. It was as if another person was speaking through her. _"Would you truly like to know? Who I care about?"_

"_Would it bee to much to ask of you, Princess?"_ Peter asked.

Her response was immediate. _"You. I care about you, above any other man."_ She could feel the impact her words made on him before the image began dissolving.

Anette's eyes shot open, and she looked around, forgetting for a moment where she was. Then she remembered; in an old cave, with Peter.

There was pressure on her fingers, and she looked up to see her fingers entwined with Peter's. She then realized that they were pressed together, with his free arm wrapped around her.

She didn't move, because she simply didn't want this moment to end. At this moment, she wished he would turn her face towards his and kiss her.

She heard Peter wake up, and yawn. Suddenly his arm shot out from around her and he scrambled up.

"I'm…sorry…Anette," he managed to say. His cheeks were blazing. Anette stood up and walked over to him.

"For what?" she asked. Then she picked up her extra sleeve and slid it on over her scar. He was silent. She went over to him again. "Peter, you have nothing to be sorry for. All you've done is saved my life."

Peter still didn't say anything. Anette sighed. "I had another…" she paused, not knowing if it had been a dream or a memory. "Did you ever ask me who I cared about, above anyone else?"

Peter's eyes brightened and he nodded. "The night of the ball, when your family was killed. Before that, you found me in a small ball room and I asked you that. What did you say?" The last question was obviously a test.

"I said that I cared about you more than any other man," Anette said, not even hesitating. She blinked.

Peter smiled and nodded. "Another memory. They're coming back in your dreams, I suppose. I think you'll get a few more and then everything will come back."

"Why do you think that?" she asked.

He shrugged. "It's just what I feel," he answered. His eyes held hope. Anette walked to the mouth of the cave and instantly jumped back.

"…Princess always was smart," a soldier said. "No wonder we were tricked so easily by her!"

"How do you explain her hair?" another asked. They were on horses, but they paid our horse no attention at all. "Princess's was that golden-wheat color. This girl's was almost white."

The other soldier shrugged. "She was young, not full grown yet. But I can tell you; even in the dark, that girl was beautiful. She won't be hard to recognize if we see her again." They continued past the horse, and one of the soldiers looked up at the cave.

"Maybe we should check in there," he suggested. "It was late last night. They probably stopped somewhere to sleep."

The other snorted. "Princess Anastasia, sleeping in a cave? Not even she would do that, Marcus."

"I want to check anyways," Marcus argued. "Not scared of a little cave, are you, Harry?" He laughed.

Harry frowned. "No. I'll even go in alone to prove you wrong," he said, getting off his horse and heading towards the cave.  
>Anette panicked and ran back to Peter. "Soldiers! Two of them! They're coming this way, looking for me!"<p>

Peter's face hardened. "Stay hidden, then," he told her, pushing her to the back of the cave.

"They'll see my hair, Peter. It's too light," she said. "I heard one say he was coming in alone first. Maybe we can take him out first."

Peter nodded. "You stay out of sight, Anette." He lifted up her hood and hid her hair under it.

"…Blasted Marcus, calling me a coward," Harry was muttering as he stepped into the cave.

As Harry turned to say something to Marcus, Peter took the advantage and hit the back of his head hard with his fist. Harry fell to the floor, unconscious.

"Harry?" Marcus yelled, and Anette heard footsteps. She knew Peter couldn't hide fast enough, and she stood up, pulling off her hood as he stepped inside.

"Looking for me?" she asked loudly. Marcus's eyes widened and he fumbled with his sword, and Peter punched the back of his head, and Marcus joined Harry on the floor in unconsciousness.

"What the hell are you doing?" Peter hissed. Anette shrugged.

"He would have seen you and killed you if I hadn't done anything," Anette said. "Come on. They won't stay out long."

Peter nodded, still annoyed that she had barely endangered her life. They gathered their few things and left. They left the two royal guard horses and took their own instead. Peter would have taken one of the other horses, so Anette could have her own, but she told him that she was afraid of riding alone, because of what had happened to her last time.

She wrapped her arms around his waist tightly and shut her eyes tightly. Peter spoke a little while after they'd left.

"I have a sister in a city near the border to Julius. We can stay there for a night before going into Julius."

Anette nodded, and then realized he couldn't see her. "Alright," she said. For some reason, she was terrified of meeting Peter's sister and terrified of meeting her aunt. Well, she was reuniting with her aunt, she supposed, but since she couldn't remember a thing about her yet, she considered it 'meeting.'

Anette and Peter stopped at an old inn, and Anette hoped she wouldn't be recognized. Though, she didn't think that anyone would be told that the princess's hair had changed color, because that would sound ridiculous.

Anette tied her hair up in a piece of cloth and looked in the mirror, seeing Peter standing by the back window looking out of it.

She realized that he hadn't kissed her since the day he'd told her who she really was. She reached up and tugged on her hair. It bothered her a little that he hadn't.

Peter turned and looked at her pulling on her hair. He came a little closer to her. "Is something wrong, Anette?"

Anette turned and smiled at him sadly. "Yes. I'm fine," she lied. She walked over to the little bed and laid down, closing her eyes.

Victoria:

Victoria yawned as she walked into the kitchen. She blinked as she saw the little white piece of paper on the table, and she picked it up.

She gasped and tears formed in her eyes. It was a note from Anette, her own lovely daughter.

Mama,

I love you, you know I do. But Peter knows who I used to be, and he knows where my blood family is. I can't come back. And I can't explain why or who I used to be for your own safety.

Look in the drawer.

-Anette

Victoria's hands were shaking and she dropped the note, running into her bedroom and yanked open the little drawer in her dresser.

Anette's diamond necklace was gone. She had found it. And now she was gone, driven away by the secrets.

"My baby, my baby!" she sobbed. She left the room and ran out into the street, to Loraine's house. "Loraine!" she called, pounding on the door.

"Ma'am?" a soldier asked from behind her. "Ma'am, the woman who lives there is at her job. May we help you?"

"My baby is gone!" she cried. "She…she left…me a…a note…and said she was leaving…"

The soldier looked at his partner and nodded. "May we see this note, ma'am?" he asked. Victoria nodded and led them back to her house and picked up the note, handing it to them while shaking.

The soldier read it a few times. "She mentions a Peter. Do you know who this man is?" he asked.

Victoria nodded. "I met him once, but he left right after I got home. I…I thought he was…Anette's suitor…but she said they were friends…"

He nodded. "Um, Anette called you Mama but then said she was looking for her blood family."

She nodded. "Anette is not my real daughter. I…I found her when she was younger, and she didn't know who her family was. So I adopted her."

"How old was she?"

"We guess about fourteen. She's nineteen now," Victoria said.

"What does she mean by 'look in the drawer'?" the other soldier asked, having taken the note from his partner.

"There…there was this…." She moved her hand to her neck. "A necklace…a diamond necklace…she was wearing it…when I found her…I hid it…but she must have found it…"

"What else did you find her with?"

"A…a blue string bracelet. She has it with her…and…and a cut, on her right arm. It's a scar now, it goes from her elbow…to her wrist…there's a bloodstain on the bracelet, too." She knew Anette had never wanted anyone to see her scar, but she had to find her, and that would help.

The soldiers' eyes were wide. "Ma'am…I believe…your daughter…may be the lost princess."

Victoria scoffed. "What? She doesn't even look like that girl! Her hair is almost white, not gold!"

The soldier nodded. "But the scar and the necklace and the age all match."

"My daughter is _not_ Princess Anastasia. Her name is Anette, and she is just a girl who has had an unfortunate life."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter VI:**

Anette woke up the next morning once again in Peter's arms. But this time, he was awake, stroking her hair like he'd always done it.

She rolled around and faced him, and his hand moved to her face. "Good morning," she whispered.

He smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Good morning," he replied.  
>"How close are we to Judith?" she asked, reaching out of her hands up and touching his face gently.<p>

"Close. We should be able to reach my sister tonight if we leave now," he said. Anette smiled.

"Let's go," she said. Peter smiled and laughed. "What?" she asked.

"Judith was always your favorite aunt. You were always excited to see her when she came to visit."

"Duchess Judith?" the hostess walked into the room. "She's your aunt? Does that mean you are Princess Anastasia?" Her voice was excited and loud.

Anette rolled off the bed and held up her hands. "Don't tell anyone," she said urgently. "Yes, I am."

The hostess smiled. "Oh, a secret! No, Princess, don't worry! I will not tell anyone about you."

"Please, don't call me that," Anette said.

"Of course, Anastasia," she tried again, obviously trying to please her. Anette was starting to panic.

"No, no. Call me Anette. Just Anette," she said. The hostess looked at her strangely but didn't argue.

"Of course, Anette," the hostess smiled, proud of obeying her orders. "No pay for the room. Royal specialty." Then she left the room. Anette sat down on the mattress by Peter and put her head in her hands.

Peter put his arm around her. "Come on; let's go, so we can reach her before nightfall." He kissed her forehead.

Anette nodded. "Yes. I guess we should go," she said. She stood up and hesitated when she picked up her extra sleeve. Then she used it to tie her hair up, looking at the long scar on her arm.

"You are not going to where that?" Peter asked, motioning to the sleeve that was now tied in her hair.

"Its part of my past," Anette said, touching it gently. "I don't want to be ashamed or scared of what it means anymore."

Peter smiled. "That's brave of you," he said gently.

Anette nodded. "Yes, I suppose so. I just…I want to finally get used to looking at it after five years."

He smiled wider. "Have you remembered…?"

"You'll be the first to know when I do," she said quietly. "But no, I haven't. I've been getting them usually every night, but not last night."

Peter looked discouraged but he smiled anyways. Anette touched his face. "I still know who I am, Peter. My memories are coming back, and I've already had a few. I know how…I felt about you. It hasn't changed."

Peter looked at Anette in the eyes. "It feels like I'm taking advantage of you because of those few memories you have had."

She shook her head and looked up at him. "Peter, I…I don't know how to convince you that it…that I don't want you to think that you're taking advantage of me."

Peter frowned. "Until they come back…I won't be convinced."

Anette frowned. "Fine," she said stiffly. She turned away from him and frowned, tears forming in her eyes.

Peter touched her shoulder gently. "Anette…" he said, but trailed off and removed his hand.

Anette sniffled and wiped a tear from her cheek. Peter touched her shoulder again. "Listen, Anette," he said. "I just want to be sure…"  
>"Be sure of what?" Anette snapped.<p>

"Be sure that you still feel the same way about me now," Peter said in a rush. "You don't have all your memories yet. One could hold the opposite feeling."

"I can remember what happened from the time when you kissed me to the time when I fell off the horse," Anette argued.

"But you don't remember what you were thinking," Peter snapped. "You could have regretted everything."  
>Anette grabbed the back of his head and kissed him for a few seconds before pulling away. "I never regretted anything," she whispered.<p>

Peter stared into her eyes before leaning down and kissing her again, putting his hands on either side of her face. Anette wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, smiling.

Peter pulled away and brushed her hair away from her face. "We should get going then," he said quietly. Then he coughed once and left the rom.

Anette's face fell and she nodded, making sure the diamond necklace was still in her pocket. She ran a finger over her scar once before following Peter out of the room, trying not to cry.

The hostess saw her and smiled, putting a finger to her lips. "Don't worry," she whispered. "I haven't told anyone."

Anette forced herself to smile. "Thank you, ma'am. You're very kind," she said, still smiling.

"No," the hostess said. "You are very kind, for blessing us all with your presence, even if they do not know it."

Anette nodded and said, "I have to leave now. Thank you for your hospitality." She smiled and left the building.

As she left, she thought she heard the hostess cry, "Can you guess who that was? That was the long-lost Princess Anastasia! In _my_ inn!"

Anette felt her anger rise but ignored it and let Peter help her onto the horse. As soon as she got on people started swarming out of the inn, crying out:

"Princess!"

"Princess Anastasia!"  
>"Will you shake my hand?"<p>

Anette wrapped her arms around Peter's waist and yelled, "Go!" Peter listened and yanked the reins, the horse sprinting out of there.

As soon as they'd taken off, soldiers on horses came after them.

Anette looked back and saw the soldiers. She held onto Peter tighter, turning back around. "Soldiers!" she screamed.

Peter yanked on the reins to try to get the horses to go faster. "Halt!" the soldier yelled. "Stop now and we will spare the boy!"

Anette squeezed her eyes shut and she heard an arrow fly past her shoulder. She sighed with relief but then felt the edge of another arrow graze her shoulder before continuing on, and the blood that was wetting her upper back and shoulder.

She gasped in pain and the soldier yelled, "We got her!"

There was pain in her shoulder radiating down her arm, but she couldn't check to see how bad it was, because she'd fall off the horse.

"Peter," she gasped. "They cut my shoulder."

Peter went rigid and moved the horse faster, turning at the corner sharply. The forest was ahead, and he charged right into it.

They were ahead of the soldiers, and he slowed down before jumping off and pulling Anette with him. He kicked the horse and it galloped away, and he pulled her behind a thick tree, yanking her down gently until she was sitting beside him.

Anette held her breath, squeezing Peter's hand as the two soldiers galloped by the tree. Once they couldn't be heard anymore, Peter pulled her through the trees towards the sound of a river.

He sank down beside it and pulled her to him, moving her hair out of the way. Anette tried to look, but he said sharply, "Keep your head straight. I need to look at it and clean it."

He took out a knife and cut the cloth around her shoulder, making a long rip in the fabric. Then he stood up and took off his over shirt and dunked it in the river before coming back and wiping away the blood on her shoulder. Then he used the knife to cut a long piece off of his wet shirt and he tied it around her shoulder.

Anette reached up and touched the makeshift bandage, flinching as it sent a shot of pain down her arm again.

"Try not to lift it," Peter said, helping her up with her good arm.

"How bad was it?" Anette asked, looking at the bandage. Blood was already showing through.

"Not extremely bad. Not as bad as your arm, though you'll probably get a scar there," he replied, looking at the blood. "I'll have my sister get you real bandages when we get to her house."

Anette nodded. "Thank you," she said quietly. She looked around her. "Do you know how to get out of the forest?"

Peter nodded and pointed the way the river was flowing. "This continues and runs behind Helena, my sister's, house. She lives just outside the forest. We'll reach her before nightfall, even on foot."

Anette nodded and tried not to move her arm, and realized it was the same arm as her other cut, the long scar. On her right side, of course.

Peter reached over and took her left hand in his and pulled her along the river, explaining how, before he'd gone to work in the castle at age seven, he and Helena had played games in the forest. Not this far, but he knew it was the same river anyways.

Anette found herself jealous that Peter could remember his childhood and she could not. Her only memories were from the last five years, and a few vague ones from when she was fourteen.

Peter looked at Anette and raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong, Anette?" he asked, stopping.

She shook her head. "No. I'm fine," she lied. She pulled her hand out of his and brushed the hair out of her face.

"You're lying," Peter said. "That's what she always did when she was lying. What's wrong?"

"You can remember your past," Anette blurted. "And I can't. It makes me jealous." She looked down, embarrassed.

Peter touched her good shoulder. "They'll come back, Anette. I know they will. They already are."

"But what if they don't?" she asked. "What if the ones I have now are the only ones I'll ever get?"

He paused. "No," he said. "You can't keep thinking that, Anette. You're going to scare yourself sick."

She shook her head. "I just don't…want to expect something that will never happen and then be let down."

Peter put his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. "Try and think positive, Anette."

Anette didn't say anything; she just pulled away from him and walked faster, the sting in her shoulder starting to go down.

Peter walked up to his sister's house, with Anette following close behind. He knocked on the door and stepped back, waiting.

An older girl who looked just like Peter answered and she looked relieved. "Peter! Even out here in Julius we've heard about your trouble with the law. They say you've found the lost princess!"

Peter stepped aside so Helena could see Anette, and her cheeks heated up. She looked down and grabbed her right arm.

She heard Helena gasp. "By God! You really have found her?" she stepped closer. "But her hair's a different color, Peter."

Anette looked up at Helena slightly. "I spent a lot of time in the sun the past few years. My hair has grown lighter."

"Helena, she's cut her shoulder, and the best I was able to provide was a makeshift bandage. Could you clean it properly?" Peter asked.

Helena nodded, still staring at Anette. She took her right arm and pulled her forward, and Anette gasped in pain. Helena dropped her hand and looked frightened.

"My shoulder," Anette said, moving her hair out of the way to show Helena the bandage on her shoulder.

"Oh…I'm sorry," she said, blushing. She took Anette's left arm and pulled her gently into the bathroom. "You have another dress underneath that, don't you?"

Anette nodded and removed the brown upper layer of her dress, leaving the thin white under gown. The shoulder still had the gash in it.

Helena pulled out a small knife and cut the seam of the sleeve, pulling it off and leaving her shoulder bare.

She then untied the makeshift bandage from around her shoulder, and in the mirror Anette saw that Peter had been telling the truth; it wasn't as bad as her arm, but still not simply a cut. The tip of the arrow had sliced a gash in her shoulder.

Helena picked up a bucket of water and wet a cloth with it, dabbing at the cut. She picked up a clear substance that wasn't liquid but wasn't solid, either. She dabbed another cloth in it and spread it over the cut, and it stung. Anette dug her fingers into her leg and ground her teeth together to keep from crying out.

Then she grabbed a roll of actual bandages and wrapped it tightly around her shoulder, tying the ends together when she was done.

Helena smiled. "There. All better." She looked at the ruined under gown. "I'll bring you something new to wear."

Anette sputtered out thanks and went she left, she stood up and took the outer layer of the dress and removed the necklace from it, putting it on the counter.

Helena came back into the room carrying another under gown and a pale blue outer layer. It matched the bracelet on her wrist that Peter had given her. She tried to reach for the clothes with her right arm, but when the pain shot down her arm, she blushed and reached took it with her left hand instead. Helena looked at the long scar running down Anette's arm.

Anette followed her gaze and looked at the scar herself. "How did you get that?" Helena asked.

"I don't remember," Anette said. "My memories…are just starting to come back. I've only remembered a few things."

Helena nodded and left the room so she could get dressed. Anette changed into the new gown, and was pleased when it fit, and, aside from the color, was no different from gowns she usually wore.

She slipped the necklace into the dress's pocket and left the room, trying to find Peter. She heard voices in one of the back rooms and leaned her ear against the wall.

"How do you know it's her?" Helena demanded.

"She's shared her memories with me! She has the bracelet, the necklace, the scar! How can you not realize it?" Peter argued.

"She could be mentally ill. Stolen them from the real princess and then given herself a scar on her arm!"

"Explain the memories, Helena! How would she know what I spoke to Anastasia about that night?"  
>"Eavesdropping!" Helena hissed. "She could have been there and been eavesdropping on you and Anastasia!"<p>

"I don't believe it," Peter said firmly. "That girl is Anastasia! She has the ice blue eyes! How many people have you seen with them?"

Helena's voice was calm. "I'm only trying to protect you, Peter. I don't want you to loose everything for helping a girl who isn't Anastasia."

Anette stepped away from the door and an image popped into her mind. An older boy, how old she didn't know, was speaking to her, and she could feel the tight dress again.

"_You and I both know that Paul would not approve of you speaking to Peter,"_ the older boy said sternly.

"_You and I both know I don't give a damn of what Paul thinks,"_ Anette heard herself say without thinking.

Another memory.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter VII:**

Anette gasped and her head became clear again. Peter yanked open the door and looked at her. "Are you alright?" he asked.  
>She nodded. "I…remembered something. I was talking to someone. I don't know who it was. He was…older than me, and older than Paul. He told me that Paul wouldn't approve that I was…speaking to you. I…I told him I didn't care what Paul thought."<p>

Peter nodded excitedly. "You said that to Raymond before the ball started." Anette found herself smiling, relieved that another memory had come.

Helena was frowning, and she walked away down the hall. Anette looked at Peter, frowning now. "She doesn't like me," she said quietly. It wasn't a question, it was simply a fact.

"She's having…a hard time believing that you are Anastasia," Peter sighed. He motioned towards the kitchen. "Are you hungry?"

Anette shook her head. "No. I'm fine," she whispered. He looked at her. "Really. Go eat. I'm fine."

"Then get some sleep," he insisted. "I'll show you where you're sleeping." He pulled her down the hallway and into a room with a little bed.

Anette laid down on the little bed and rested her head on the pillow, shutting her eyes and sighing.

Anette tossed and turned that night, a nightmare creeping into her sleeping mind, making her gasp in horror.

A man was yelling at her, but then he stopped and slouched onto the table, an arrow in his chest. Someone pulled her up and pushed her forward. A girl had an arrow sticking out of the back of her head.

Someone with a sword came at her, but instead of killing her all they managed to do was cut her arm before the wall hit his face.

The scenes became quick flashes. Peter sliding the bracelet onto her wrist, arrows flying past her and Judith. The cat streaking across the road. The sound of her screams as she fell off the horse.

Anette drew in a sharp breath and sat up straight in bed, her hair sticking to her face from sweat. Her arm was stinging, and she pulled up her sleeve, grabbing her arm frantically, feeling for blood.

Peter flung the door open and lit a candle, kneeling by her side. Anette sobbing into his shoulder.

"What happened, Anette?" he whispered, petting down her hair.

"I…memories…my father, dead…Beatrice was, too. They tried to…stab me…but they cut my arm instead…the wall swung open…hit him in the face…" she sobbed.

He held her tightly until she was done crying, then he pulled back and traced her scar. "I think we know how you got this, Anette."

Anette nodded, wiping tears from her face. "Yes," she said, her voice cracking as she spoke.

He brushed her matted hair away from her sweaty face and said quietly, "Go back to sleep, Anette. You'll be fine. It's just a memory."

Anette nodded and laid back down on the bed, letting out a small breath and closing her eyes.

Peter came to wake her up the next morning, and when she came out, the heard a little girl laughing and talking to Helena.

When she walked into the kitchen, Helena stopped and looked at her. She said something to the little girl before standing up straight. "Good morning, Anette. This is my daughter Shelby."

Anette smiled at the little girl, and Shelby waved to her. The little girl had blond hair and brown eyes, but she couldn't help be reminded of another little girl, with blond hair and deep blue eyes. Janice.

Shelby bounced up to Anette. "Hi!" she said. "I'm five years old!" She held up five fingers.

"Hello," Anette said, going down to her knees. "My name is Anette." She paused, wondering if she should have said Anastasia, but she shook her head. "You know, Shelby, you remind me of someone."

Shelby smiled. "Who?" she asked.

"My little sister," Anette answered. "She had blond hair, too, and she was always very sweet."

Shelby laughed and clapped. "Did she come too?" Her voice was excited and childish, and she looked very happy.

Anette shook her head. "No, no she's very far away. She stayed with my parents." She felt tears coming to her eyes and she shook her head.

"Do you miss her?" Shelby asked.

Anette looked down at Shelby. "Yes. Yes, I miss her very much." Peter came up and took her hand in his and smiled sadly, leading her out of the house.

Helena had agreed to lend them her horse, and, before getting on, Anette checked her pocket for the necklace, and was less paranoid when she felt it in there. Then Peter helped her onto the horse.

Then Peter yanked on the reins and Anette held tightly around his waist.

Judith lived in a large house in a small town a few hours ride from Helena's house. By the time they had reached the house, Anette was shaking with fear and anticipation and worry.

Peter yanked the reins and the horse stopped. He helped her off, and they went to the door, Anette behind like at Helena's.

He knocked on the door. A servant opened it. "Tell your mistress that Peter Vaugn is here to see her," Peter said. "And he has a surprise."

The servant nodded. "Come in, Master Peter," she said, opening the door wider. She jumped when she saw Anette, but let her in also.

Anette stood behind Peter, so that only about half her face would be showing when Judith got there.

Judith swept down the stairs, and memories flooded Anette's mind. The woman hugging her, asking how old she was, laughing and making jokes. She hid behind Peter even more now.

"Peter!" Judith cried. "What a surprise! What special occasion is this, so that I get to see you?"

Peter smiled. "It is always a pleasure, Miss Judith. And the occasion is her," he said as he moved away and motioned towards Anette.

Judith looked confused. "Who is this?" she asked.

Peter smiled wider. "Judith, I've brought you your long-lost niece, Anastasia." Anette kept her eyes on the ground but heard Judith gasp.

"Ana…Anastasia? I thought…everyone was sure…isn't she _dead_?" she sputtered. Peter took Anette's arm gently and pushed up the sleeve to reveal the scar and the bracelet. She flinched from the dull pain in her shoulder.

Judith covered her mouth. "My little Anastasia!" she cried, tears streaming down her face and she hugged Anette tightly. Anette smiled, starting to cry, too, and hugged her aunt back. "Where have you been the last five years?"

Anette swallowed. "I…I fell off the horse that night. I hit my head and lost all my memories…but a couple weeks ago they started coming back…" She looked at Judith to see what she thought.

Judith nodded. "I'm just glad you're home!" she said, hugging her again. "Peter, however did you find her?"

"She was exploring the old castle and I caught her. I didn't fully realize who she was until I saw the bracelet." He pointed to the pale bracelet on her wrist.

Anette rolled her eyes, wanting to mention he'd realized it, and then kissed her before telling her anything.

Judith nodded. "I'll never be able to thank you enough, Peter. You've reunited the last of the Collins after too many years."

Anette smiled and looked at Peter. "No thanks necessary, Judith," he said. "I wanted to find her as much as you did."

Judith nodded. "Come Anastasia, I know you where your room is, and Peter, I'll have Bethesda show you yours."

Anette didn't move, because Judith had called her Anastasia, which she hadn't been called in years.

"Anastasia? Anastasia!" Judith called. Anette jumped and hurried off to join her aunt by the stairs.

"Judith?" Peter said. "Anastasia lost her memory, and the closest name she could come to was Anette. She had few memories of being called Anastasia."

Judith's face was still smiling, but her eyes were sad. "I'll get used to it again," she said quickly. "It's my real name and I want to use it."

Judith said, "You don't have to, darling. Anette is a beautiful name."

"But it's not _my_ name. I was once Anastasia and I want to be her again," Anette said firmly.

Judith and Peter didn't argue with her, and her aunt pulled her up and led her into a large bedroom, but smaller than the one at the palace. She gasped and looked around the huge room.

"Aunt Judith, I…" Anette started, but Judith held up a hand.

"You're a princess, Anastasia. And my niece. You deserve only the best. Which is why I never understood when your father engaged you to Paul…" she trailed off, pain echoing through her eyes.

Anette looked down. "What hurts more?" she asked quietly. "Paul's betrayal or my father's death?"

"Frederick's death," Judith said. "I would let Paul take over anything if it meant my family would live." She sighed and smiled sadly at Anette. "But we're both still alive, which means Paul failed. I just hope one day something similar happens to him."

Anette nodded. "Peter has a niece, and she reminded me so much of Janice. I can remember barely anything of her and Raymond, but it still hurt so badly."

Judith's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Janice. How someone can be so ruthless to kill a five year old I will never know."

"I asked Peter about that," Anette said. "He said only someone greedy and selfish would do anything like that."

Judith nodded. "Paul…that's what he is." She looked at Anette and hugged her tightly. "You have to promise me you'll never go back to Navera. It's too dangerous for you now."

Anette nodded. "I won't, Aunt Judith, I promise," she said, hugging her aunt back. Judith looked at her right shoulder.

"You've barely moved your right arm," she said. "Did something happen to it? What's wrong?"

"I…soldiers were chasing up yesterday, and an arrow missed me completely but cut me a little on my shoulder," Anette explained. "It hurts to move."

Judith nodded. "I hope it will feel better soon," she said, patting her uninjured shoulder. "And that it does not get infected."

Anette hugged Judith. "Thank you, Aunt Judith. For everything," she sighed. "I'm sorry for everything I put you through these past years."

Judith pulled away and looked at Anette. "That is all made up for now. Who took care of you, though, after you lost your memory?"

"A woman named Victoria. She told me if I had no place to go I could stay there with her," Anette said.

"I'll have to thank her someday," Judith murmered. "Oh! I know! Let's write her a letter, you and me! I doubt you told her where you were going." She raised her eyebrows at Anette.

"I left her a note that said I was looking for family," she said. "But we should tell her I got here safely."

Judith went over to the desk and picked up a piece of paper and started writing on it. Before she folded it, she offered Anette the pen, but she shook her head. Writing to Mama would probably make her cry.

Judith closed it and handed it to a servant to have delivered to Mama quickly. Anette sat on the bed and thought about what Mama's face would look like when she received the letter from Judith.

Not that she would ever see her mother's face again.

Judith came over and sat next to her, putting her arm around her in a one-armed hug. "What's wrong, Anastasia?"

Anette shrugged. "I'm going to miss Victoria some, that's all," she said, turning to smile sadly at Judith.

Judith returned her sad smile. "You will probably be able to go visit in a year or two, once the excitement of your reappearance has died down."

Anette nodded. "Yes, I know. But I'll miss her until then." She paused. "My friend Loraine said that there's a law in Navera that allows any past family member that was from the royal family to take back the throne from whoever is currently ruling. Is that true?"

Judith nodded. "Yes. But you mustn't think of doing that. Paul will have you killed before you can say a single word."

Anette nodded. "I wasn't thinking about doing it. It was just a question." But of course, she was thinking of doing it.


End file.
